When we get home, my mom backs up the car into a slot in our 28-car garage. I look at the house I have lived in since I was a year old. The house is secluded, with a huge property surrounding the large house.
It isn't a mansion, of course, since it's only the four of us at home most of the time, but it is extravagant. Huge oak and pine trees surround our house around the large lawn and yard. The outer walls are a creamy white color and there are many windows to let as much sunshine in as possible, but the glass is bulletproof since in our small town it rains much and even hails sometimes.
The lush green grass surrounding our house itself is weeded every week or so when me, my younger brother, Varun, my father, and my mother get together to spend time outside to take care of our garden. We started this tradition a couple of years ago, after we paid our gardener, Carrie, enough money to support herself and her seven-year-old brother, who has recently recovered from cancer.
There are different sections of the garden, with sections for local and exotic flora, sections for fruits and vegetables that grow on vines, in stalks, underground, and my personal favorite, a section for my mother's and my hand-selected roses. There are a few elaborate marble bird baths, feeders, and animal shelters for small animals and insects that help the garden. Every year, a community of beautiful and rare dragonflies, butterflies, and birds return to our garden. Our garden, though closed to the public, is often a topic for conversations amongst the others in town; a couple of times a few visitors, photographers, and those who are interested in our mini paradise have gotten permission from my father to roam about, taking photos and asking us questions about specific plants and animals.
Varun isn't as interested in gardening as me or mom, but he does have his own pot with a very large succulent, echeveria elegans. I gave it to him as a present on his tenth birthday (he's two years younger than me), and it was a tiny little thing in a small brown clay pot. He took good care of it every day, and now it is in a large, translucent glass pot that sits in the sun on a pedestal. It has many smaller daughter plants surrounding the middle mother plant, and the succulent leaves or petals are vibrant shades of green and blue, and even a little purple. A few pink buds poke out here and there, amongst the humungous petal like leaves.
Our house itself has three floors, an attic, and two basement levels. On the ground floor we have the usual; three sitting rooms, two kitchens, three dining rooms, a couple of storage closets, two bathrooms, an extra guest room, and a room filled with all the monitors for security cameral and such, which has a hidden door and is a room with no windows. Not many people outside our close family knows how to access this room, or even that it exists. On the second floor are my parents' room, my brother's room, a couple of closets, three guest rooms, an extra bathroom, two more sitting areas, and another kitchen with a dining room attached.
My parents have the largest bedroom of the house, with an attached bathroom, walk-in closet, and a sitting area. They have large windows covered with beautiful curtains and luxurious furniture. Varun has a smaller, but still very large room with the same attachments. His room theme goes along green tones, while my parents' is more shades of gray.
On the third floor is my room, my music room, my dance room, five guestrooms, two sitting areas, an extra bathroom, and a couple of closets. In the attic are two rooms for my grandparents (all of them are still living), when they visit, and the rest of the space is occupied by special rooms like my library. Rooms like the music room, dance room, and the library are technically belonging to the whole household, but they are mainly for my use, like how my brother has his art and game rooms, my father has his study and pool room, and my mother has her study and a separate room for her special cooking in the attic.
My room is larger than my brother's but smaller than my parents'. It has the same attachments, and my room theme is blue, with a large variety of shades, anywhere from pastel blue, to teal, to robin egg's blue, to navy.
Each guest room has a bed and a few appliances, with a small attached bathroom and closet, following a modern style for décor and set up. My grandparents' rooms are larger than mine, but smaller than my parents', and they have basically the same set up as our room but painted and decorated with nude colors.
The first basement level has seven guest rooms, three general bathrooms, two sitting areas for when my parents have small parties of people over, and swimming pool room. Of the two sitting areas, one is modernly styled, and the other is regal, with many blue tones for furniture and the general aesthetic of the room. In the regal sitting room, there is a large bookshelf on one side of the wall, filled with very large and old books, in many languages. They are all expensive classics, in English, Hindi, Urdu, Punjabi, Sanskrit, Latin, Greek, Spanish, and other dialects. If you pull the famous Mahabharata, a major Sanskrit epic, the Ramayana, another major Sanskrit epic, the Iliad, a major Greek epic, the Odyssey, another major Greek epic, and William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, a door opens underneath a painting of a bluebell done by Varun on the opposite wall.
If you go in, there is a small set of stairs that go down and lead into one of my special rooms; it is a whole floor that is a gym. That is where I have been working out and training for a long time. It is well lit, despite being underground, and has a concrete floor with a couple of mats in some places. There are a bunch of machines and equipment lining the walls for my and my father's use.
My brother sometimes comes in, but he doesn't care as much for our infatuation with building muscle. Varun's more of a runner. I go roughly three hours every weekday, with small breaks in which I do my homework on the benches. On weekends, my schedule must be extremely flexible, I could work out for anywhere from zero to five hours on Saturday and Sunday.
As soon as I step out of the car, mom and I head immediately to my room to change into more comfortable clothes and freshen up.
"Afternoon, child," my father greets from the steps of the second floor. Mom has already gone to her room and Varun is outside, glasses perched haphazardly on his nose while he clicks away on his laptop. My little bro gets picked up from dad since he gets out of school at an earlier time, despite also being in high school. Since he is two years younger than me, he is a freshman while I am a junior, thus he only has six periods instead of eight (sophomores get seven and seniors have eight also).
I quickly scan Varun through the windows; he has inky black hair that is neatly brushed out of his way, but I can see it's a little messy from when he has run his hands through it a couple times. His brown eyes are speculative while almost hiding under his furrowed eyebrows. His tan skin, high cheekbones, defined jaw, and lanky figure tends to attract female attention at school, but he is not one to pay attention to that kind of thing. Varun seems a little tense and confused, so I make a mental note to talk to him after I freshen up.
As I observe Varun out of the corner of my eye within a second, I talk to dad.
"Hi daddy." He nods, before I go on my way to my room. My father is wearing his work clothes; a white dress shirt with his black jacket off and his tie loosened, with his slacks on and his shiny black shoes at the door. I climb the last couple of stairs and enter my room down the hall. My door is a white color with a small floral pattern in gold paint wrapping around the width of the door. Varun had painted it for me for my thirteenth birthday.
I push open the door and walk across the gray fluffy carpet that my feet have tread thousands of times before. I scan my room; it is large compared to other rooms I have heard about from other kids, and the walls are painted robin's egg blue with a pure white trim around door frames and the floor. The room itself is around eight hundred square feet, not including my bathroom and walk in closet. My walls consist of large ceiling-to-floor windows with the clearest of glass panes and a shimmery gold frame on the right, with French doors that open to my circular balcony. Gauzy ivory and navy curtains cover the windows at intervals, while the heavy royal blue curtains are pushed back to the sides, letting a steady stream of light inside, without anyone or anything being able to look inside if I draw the heavier curtains. In front of the windows is my sitting area, with a dark oak coffee table and cream couches with navy cushions and blankets neatly folded on some seats.
My balcony itself has dark marble flooring and a pearly barrier on the outer edges of the half-moon like area. In the corner is a small fridge filled with lemonade and bottled water, and there is a small glass table in the middle of the area with four plush cream chairs. Above, the retractable roof is stretched to its limit, giving shade to the balcony.
Inside, to the left of my room is a small alcove which is covered by a tapestry of a night sky hanging from a rod. The tapestry was woven by my great-great-great grandmother, who was known throughout her village in India as one of the most beautiful women anyone had seen. The alcove though consists of a small bench covered with turquoise cushions and has large and heavy windows made of one-way glass looking outside. Varun had even tested it one day, and though I couldn't see him from outside my room, in the garden, he could see me perfectly well, even going as far as to sketch a portrait of me. On the side of the alcove is the same robin's egg blue wall, but if you know where to look, you can find a hidden weak point in the wall; which if you push brings out a latch under the bench. If you pull it, there is a secret compartment, usually filled with my books and a small weapon for safety.
Next to the alcove is my bed, made of dark oak wood and elaborate designs on the thick head and foot boards. The sheets are a satiny cream and the comforter, pulled neatly against my pillows is a deep navy blue. My pillows are also a color like sea foam, and every night, before I go to sleep, I see my baby mobile from when my father had hung it from the ceiling, with gently spinning stars and the moon and sun. Next to my bed is a nightstand with drawers that hold personal items.
Besides that, I have a couple of appliances and such but on the opposite side of the room are two doors, both similar to my bedroom door. The one on the right leads to my bathroom, with a skylight and more one-way windows that are covered with curtains (just to be sure). There is a marble counter with two elaborate sinks and cabinets underneath. Mirrors cover much of the turquoise walls in front of the counter. On the other side is a small closet with a rolling door and gold handle that holds all my bathroom necessities, like extra soap and towels. There is a large pearly bathtub on the far side of the room, and the black marble shower is near the closet. There is a small rolling door directly across from the bathroom door which leads to the toilet and more cabinets.
The door on the left of the far side of my room leads to a large walk-in closet. I have separate cream-colored racks that are drilled into the walls for different types of clothes. For example, I have different sections for my designer clothes for formal events, traditional Indian clothing for family events, home clothes for home, pajamas, work out clothes, and more. In the center are a few cream couches with navy pillows, and a few showcases line the couches, holding all my jewelry and watches, along with a few racks holding my dozens of shoes and accessories. I'm honestly not one to play dress up, but when your parents have a lot of money, you must be prepared.
I walk to my desk in the corner of my room and unplug my laptop from where it has been charging. I take off my backpack, hanging it on a hook on the wall under the desk, pull off my Apple Watch and put it on charge on my nightstand, pull off my jacket, slinging it incautiously across the back of my royal blue spinning office chair next to my desk, and I walk into my closet. I sit on one of the couches for a moment and debate with myself. Should I dance first or should I do some gym. I really should dance first since it will give me a chance to warm up and loosen my limbs before doing one of my extreme workouts.
Since I was eight, my grandmothers have been teaching me Indian classical dance. I learned to be extremely flexible, telling a story with specific controlled movements from every part of my body, even my eyes. This practice helped me win control during that summer between elementary and middle school. After I turned thirteen, though, I learned all they could teach me, so on my six-monthly trip to India, they had hired an instructor for me. He is not very well known, as he is very humble and kind, but one of the best dance instructors in India. My grandmother's mother was apparently friends with his mother, so my grandmothers hired him easily. Every time I go to India, which is around every six months, he gives me enough recordings for half a year. I go to India for winter break and summer break, so I don't miss much school.
I grab my white dress, golden anklets, and white leggings and head to the bathroom to take a shower before dancing when I hear a loud knock at my bedroom door.